First, the Queen spreads her lacy cloth beside the path.
Sparkling white, washed with morning dew;
dried with autumn sun.
Seen from above it is a delicate pattern of doilies;
Some small, some large, each centered
with an ebony-headed pin.
Her halls are lined with fawn-colored grasses;
grown through weeks of summer sunshine.
And crowned with plumes of seed.
And now the fragile beauty is enhanced by a centerpiece.
Sky-blue chicory blossoms stand tall
amid snowy white and
autumn tan.
Queen Ann has requested the honor of your presence
at her annual feast for the soul.
Indiana Summer is the address.
Sunrise is the hour.
R.S.V. P.
